I am a cis woman
Who likes women and is ‘meh’ about sex
I would give everything I have
To look like someone from a Tom of Finland drawing.
Jean-Paul Gaultier exhibition at the Barbican.
Highlight - the Ruby Rhod catsuit up close!
This is my friend Min.
I met Min at university.
We attended an after-party together that sort of devolved into an orgy. (Blowjobs were given out of ‘sheer britishness’).
I topped her for the evening/early morning.
Then she took me home.
We had lots of fun. I discovered she really like ancient Egypt. So did I.
We both had bits of banana-skin papyrus on our walls.
And we liked kinky sex.
And the colour black.
Up until around that time, I was having a sort of dreadful time at university.
I hated the people I lived with. I was ready to throw in the towel and go home. Maybe try another university, another year.
Min was one of three people who made me feel like it was worth sticking around.
She forgot her vodka at my place one night and efforts to reunite her with it failed. I ended up taking it home with me for summer break.
It never returned.
That was five years ago.
I still remember all this.
The year that followed was p. cool.
We hung out sometimes.
We gothed up and drank white cider in the park, recapturing our misspent teenage years.
Then we wandered back via a sweet shop, simultaneously got pervy ideas about ‘strawberry whips’ and proceeded to experiment with candy bondage.
Vimto spray tingles. Nuff said.
I gave her a tramp-stamp with a temporary spiderman tattoo I got from a pack of candy cigarettes.
I also had arguments with her. Cause friends do that.
Those arguments helped me shape a lot of my thoughts and beliefs on feminism.
She is and was also terribly stylish.
I often felt a bit inadequate, but never because she made me feel that way.
We got hilariously drunk at a friends’ wedding and invented a language. It had only two words. Rum, and, Cake.
When she moved away for a while, I was a bit heartbroken. And I was furious when I learned how badly she was being messed around by people.
When I had to move away, she was one of the few people who kept in touch.
Whenever I visited, she’d come to see me. I even stayed with her one time.
She insisted on dragging my bag from the station. Because Min is a looming, flame-haired, butch goddess.
Who I adore.
I was quite prepared to carry it myself. But she would not hear of it. It was sweet.
Recently, Min was screwed over by an employer. They owe her quite a bit of money.
It meant she had to move out of her house.
And was a real blow to her confidence and self-esteem.
Min stopped believing the self-evident truth.
That she is an awesome, looming, fire-haired goddess who kicks butt, takes names, is into kinky stuff, has incredible style, teaches people about feminism and carries your bag for you.
And is also really good in the sack.
And has the very best boots.
Happy birthday, Min.
You are awesome.
AAAAAAAAAA KAT AAAAAAA
AAAAAA THIS IS SO NICE
ALSO MY BRAIN TRIED TO SET THIS TO MUSIC WHILE I READ IT
I AM SO HAPPY X
Couroupita guianensis, cannon ball tree, Curtis’s Botanical Magazine, vol. 59 [ser. 2, vol. 6]: t. 3159 (1832) [W.J.H.]
It’s not April 1st, so I’m going to go ahead and assume that coolinteriordesignideas just got hacked…